


Sparkle and Dust

by orphan_account



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Exhibitionism, Fourth of July, Frottage, M/M, Sloppy Makeouts, Steve Rogers's Birthday, Top Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2020-07-05
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:46:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25083355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: It’s when one of the big, loud rockets go off— one of the ones that get the “oohs” and “ahs”— that Steve suddenly wraps that arm all the way around Bucky’s waist and pulls his body in tight, no longer perched on Steve’s leg but instead sitting squarely on Steve’s crotch. The sound of it drowns out Bucky’s embarrassing yelp of surprise. He can feel Steve’s semi through both of their swim trunks.His beard scratches against Bucky's sweaty neck when Steve starts talking all low in his throat with his lips pressed right into Bucky's ear.“You havin’ a nice time, sugar?”---From the"Three-Day Weekend Daddy" AU
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 29
Kudos: 228





	Sparkle and Dust

**Author's Note:**

  * For [howdoyousleep](https://archiveofourown.org/users/howdoyousleep/gifts).



> This is from the "Three-Day Weekend Daddy" AU (I highly recommend you read the [head canon](https://howdoyousleep3.tumblr.com/post/616337676444008448/hello-and-happy-friday-as-we-enter-the-weekend) first), which originated on tumblr in the mind of [howdoyousleep](https://archiveofourown.org/users/howdoyousleep) and quickly pulled me in. This particular story based on a tumblr request.

“Need another drink, Buck? Show’s ‘bout to start.”

The day had been a hot one. Hot and _humid_ , steamy almost to the point of discomfort even with the cool relief that swimming in the lake brought. Bucky had been cursing the lack of a breeze all day long, but the truth is that he’s glad of it now that the sun is dipping below the horizon, dusk turning to night, heat falling with it. The absence of wind means the surface of the lake is almost perfectly still—save for the occasional wake of a boat motor, which looks to be subsiding now that everyone is tossing anchor in the cove to settle in—and Bucky can see already how beautifully the colorful bursts of fireworks are going to reflect off of it like a mirror.

He looks down thoughtfully at his mostly empty beer bottle, before nodding.

“Yes, please.”

The smile Steve gives him under his beard is handsome while still managing to look dumb and dopey, like Bucky had said something absolutely adorable instead of answering a simple question. When Steve leans down for a chaste kiss he pulls off his own ball cap, moving it out of the way, and Bucky giggles when Steve puts it on Bucky’s head instead—turned backwards.

“You got it, bunny. How’s that one workin’ out for you? You want another ‘a the same, or something different?”

The truth is that Bucky doesn’t care much what he’s drinking anymore. He’s not drunk but he’s very buzzed, feeling nice, enjoying the company of all their friends hanging out on Steve’s boat, and while he’s liking this strawberry lager just fine he would probably enjoy anything that Steve puts in his hand right now. Steve has good taste.

“Hm. Pick something for me?”

It’s an honest request, but Bucky also knows what he really means by saying it. He knows _Steve_ knows he’s flirting, like Bucky often does after a full day of drinking and swimming and socializing, walking around in his favorite swim trunks and taking drinks whenever Steve brings him one.

It’s dark out now—the fireworks show is going to start any minute—but there’s just enough light left on the lake to see the mischievous way that Steve’s eyes blacken.

“Yeah, sweetheart, sure thing. Go sit in the driver’s seat and wait for me, we’ll watch the show from back there.”

Steve winks at him as he turns away, and Bucky feels warm all over.

He makes his way back to Steve’s big boat chair like Steve told him to do, sitting down and waiting. The first little _pop_ in the night sky surprises him but he joins in with the cheering, laughing at Nat’s drunk “woo”-girl noises. The display adds just enough light that Bucky has a good view of Steve walking back towards him, a beer in each hand, still wearing nothing but his swim trunks and god—he looks good, he looks good and he _knows_ it.

“Up, Daddy’s chair,” Steve pretends to chide, motioning for Bucky to move, “you sit in my lap.”

Bucky smiles and gets up, making room. While Steve settles in Bucky takes a moment to admire the bronzed tone of Steve’s summer skin, the sheen of sweat coating his broad chest and tight abs, the way the moisture beads in Steve’s chest hair. His mind easily recalls the way the skin on Steve’s lower belly tasted this morning when Bucky woke him up with a ‘happy birthday’ blowjob, crawling between Steve’s open legs (the man _sprawls_ in his sleep) and sucking down his morning wood with practiced ease.

Steve catches him staring and stretches out in the chair, gratuitously. Bucky wonders if Steve can tell he’s thinking about the way Daddy’s thick cock felt inside him this morning.

“Thirsty, Buck? Take your beer, c’mere.”

Bucky laughs and lets himself be pulled into Steve’s lap with one arm around Bucky’s waist, settling on one of Steve’s thick thighs as the fireworks start to go off in earnest. It’s comfortable and it’s warm and the lake looks every bit as beautiful shining with color as Bucky thought it would. He takes a sip of the new beer. It’s delicious.

It’s when one of the big, loud rockets go off— one of the ones that get the _“oohs”_ and _“ahs”_ — that Steve suddenly wraps that arm all the way around Bucky’s waist and pulls his body in tight, no longer perched on Steve’s leg but instead sitting squarely on Steve’s crotch. The sound of it drowns out Bucky’s embarrassing yelp of surprise. He can feel Steve’s semi through both of their swim trunks. 

His beard scratches against Bucky's sweaty neck when Steve starts talking all low in his throat with his lips pressed right into Bucky's ear. 

“You havin’ a nice time, sugar?”

Steve's grip on him doesn't let up even though there’s no way Bucky would go anywhere. Bucky allows himself a moment to recover from the surprise manhandling before setting his beer down and turning himself a little in Steve’s hold, dropping his own voice to something low and breathy when he says, “I can think of a few ways you can make it better for me,” pausing for effect before adding, “ _Daddy_.” He tries to grind down as much as he can in Steve’s strong hold. 

The sound Steve returns is something like a growl-turned-guffaw. 

“Jesus, Buck. Daddy got himself a bratty little bunny tonight?”

Bucky pretends to be offended, mouth open in a silent ‘o’. “Does knowing what I want and asking for it make me a brat?”

“No,” Steve chuckles, “I suppose it don’t.” He kisses the skin below Bucky’s ear when he goes on, lowers his voice, says, “it makes Daddy thick and hard for you, though.”

Steve sets down his beer next to Bucky’s before taking his free hand and cups Bucky’s face with it, turning his head for him. He presses a finger down on the fleshy plumpness of Bucky’s lower lip. 

“Been lookin’ at this mouth all _day_ . You know how red and slick your lips get when you been lickin’ at ‘em? When you’re sucking on those popsicles you like? What am I sayin’— don’t fuckin’ answer that, Christ. Of _course_ you do. ‘S why you do it, ain’t it?”

Bucky knows Steve doesn’t actually expect an answer. As Steve talks he presses the thumb inward until Bucky’s mouth opens for it, hungry, and he instinctively closes his lips around it as soon as it slips in.

Steve groans at the sight and the wastes no time hooking the thumb behind Bucky’s bottom row of teeth— something Steve _knows_ Bucky is weak for. Between that and the grip on his chin, Steve has almost full control over Bucky’s entire jaw. He could tug Bucky’s head any way he wants and Bucky couldn’t do a damn thing about it. He loves it. 

Another big firework goes off, one of the kinds that sparkles and dusts across the night sky with magical crackling noises. Bucky hollows his cheeks wantonly at the exact same moment that the bright display lights up their faces in the dark. 

“Fuck—just _look_ at yourself, bunnybaby. Suckin’ at your Daddy’s hand like there ain’t a dozen people here who can see you doin’ it.”

Maybe a younger version of Bucky Barnes— someone a lot more timid that hadn’t yet grown used to having a boyfriend that both loves to surround himself with friends and loves to be handsy as fuck— would have blushed at the thought of someone seeing him with Steve’s thumb in his mouth. But _this_ Bucky is a seasoned pro, and if there’s pink on his cheeks it’s only from a day of fun in the sun. He knows that Sam or Nat or Clint or any of the friends sitting in his peripheral vision could turn at any minute and find Bucky with Steve’s thumb in his popsicle-stained mouth, but right now they’re all buzzed and distracted by the light show.

And if they weren’t? Well, it wouldn’t be the first time, and besides…

“But I know what you’re thinkin’ in that pretty head… _‘Let ‘em look.’_ Ain’t that right, sweetheart?”

He grins wryly around the thumb in his mouth and Steve tugs it back, pulls it free with an obscene _pop_ that feels louder than the fireworks. Bucky kisses the pad of it wetly.

“Mhmm,” he purrs, lowering his lashes in an absolutely shameless fashion. “Doesn’t matter if they see. This is _Daddy’s_ boat.”

Another big firework goes off, the biggest one yet, and it’s a damn good thing it does because Steve’s choked groan is _loud_ next to Bucky’s ear. In a sudden and dizzy frenzy Steve pulls his hand back and gets both arms around Bucky, turning him in his lap and pulling him in tight like he doesn’t know what else to do with the pulse of energy and maybe power that Bucky’s words send through him. He squeezes him tight and grinds his hips up all at once, burying his face into Bucky’s sweaty neck to smother the tail end of the sound.

“ _Goddamn_ , sugar,” Steve laughs, wet into the hinge of Bucky’s jaw, “sweet fuckin’ Jesus. You’re gonna give me a heart attack, you know that? I’m gonna keel over right here, and then Sam’s gonna haf’ta be the one to drive the boat back in.”

“Hey!” Bucky gawks, expression bent into faux-protest. “I can do it! You taught me how, remember?”

That makes Steve chuckle into the wet, hungry, open-mouthed kisses he’s now pressing into Bucky’s neck. Bucky wonders if his skin still tastes like sunscreen—if _Daddy’s_ skin does, too.

Steve starts kissing up Bucky’s jaw in a way that probably _is_ bordering on a rude level of PDA, says, “I know you can baby, but you’ll be too busy playin’ nurse for your poor, hurt Daddy ‘cause of what you did to him.”

When Steve’s mouth passes over his chin Bucky ducks his head, surprising Steve by capturing that next wet kiss with his own lips. There’s more tongue and teeth in it than he’s sure their friends would prefer, but the fireworks show is really starting to ramp up now and he knows that no one gives a shit about what he and Steve are up to at the back of the boat.

Steve cards a hand into the hair at the back of Bucky’s head and takes control of the kiss and Bucky lets it happen, like he always does, melts freely into Steve’s affection and guidance and control. When Steve finally lets them breathe and starts talking again his tone is heavier, a little thicker, a little harder. It matches the line of flesh filling out in the lap under Bucky’s ass.

“What else is mine?” Steve rumbles out, gaze pinning Bucky with a heat he can feel more than he can see in the darkness. “Got this nice boat… what else belongs to Daddy?”

Bucky breathes out as slowly as he can given the head rush he gets from the implication behind Steve’s words. He knows this game. He knows what Daddy wants, and he knows how badly Bucky himself wants to give it all to him.

“Me, Daddy.”

Steve’s grin against his chin is full of teeth, somehow goofy and predatory all at once. “Oh… bunny, is that right? Which parts ‘a you, _tell me_ ,” he demands, using his grip on Bucky’s waist to tease them both by undulating their bodies together more, “tell Daddy—let’s see, these lips belong to me?”

As if to demonstrate his point Steve recaptures Bucky’s mouth, bites at his already kiss-swollen lips a few times like he— well, like he _owns_ it, before letting go.

“Mhm, yeah. My whole mouth. S’yours.”

“That’s right, honey. And how about this right here?” Steve nips at the skin on the side of Bucky’s neck, right over the fading love bruise from that morning. Steve put it there because he knew what they were going to be doing that day and he knows how much Bucky loves to prance around in his swim shorts with his skin bared, showing off places that Steve put his mark on Bucky for everyone to see. “This pretty neck belong to me, too?”

Bucky nods more eagerly than he means to, maybe whimpers, says, “yeah, my neck— yours, Daddy.”

Steve swears and licks at the skin there again, hums out, “baby _boy_ … Christ. What else?”

From the sounds coming from outside their little bubble of intimacy and spit, Bucky can tell that the firework show is starting to reach its crescendo. The _pops_ are coming more frequently and the dark sky is staying lit with color for longer each time, but Bucky is pretty much missing the whole thing. He doesn’t care. He _can’t_ , not when Daddy’s broad hand is splayed over his lower back and guiding Bucky’s hips in time with Steve’s upward grinding.

“What _else_ , Buck?”

It’s as close as Steve ever gets to sounding stern, but Bucky knows he expects an answer. Feeling brave, he presses his hips down extra firmly and lets all his weight fall on the stiff cock beneath him, and he gives Daddy a kiss. It’s close and a little sloppy, and he’s still thinking of what he wants his answer to be and—okay, yeah, maybe he’s feeling _really_ brave.

When he whispers out his reply it’s in his best attempt at ‘sultry’, and it’s right into Steve’s sweaty hair.

“Daddy owns my _tight little_ —”

“—hey, lovebirds! Show’s almost over and you ain’t watched a damn second of the thing!”

Bucky’s body jolts. It’s Sam’s voice, cutting through the cacophony of booms in the sky and breathing in Bucky’s ear. He’s not actually ashamed of being caught but he is shocked, jumping instinctually at the surprise, his erection flagging from the quick punch of fear and adrenaline at being called out but Steve—Steve doesn’t even pull his face away from where it’s smothered against Bucky’s jaw.

Steve just _laughs_.

“Fuck off, Wilson! It’s my birthday. Drink your damn beer!”

Bucky can almost hear Sam’s eye roll but he can’t see it, not even when he tries to turn and see Sam’s reaction because Steve’s still got a hold of him and _he won’t let him_.

“Ignore him, Buck,” Steve says, catching Bucky’s chin in one hand and pulling him in for a kiss that is way hotter than it has any right to be given how quick it is. “You _are_ mine, and this is my boat and it’s _my_ birthday. I can do whatever the fuck I want with all of that. Yeah?”

Bucky’s panting a little, whether from the kiss or what’s left of the nerves or both, but he smiles through a nod. “Yeah, Daddy. Yeah.”

As the _pops_ and _cracks_ reach a definitive crescendo, people on the boats around them in the cove start cheering. The finale must be wrapping up. There’s so much light bursting across the night sky that it lights up every inch of Steve’s sun-kissed face for Bucky’s view. 

Steve’s still young but Bucky can see every lightly graying hair in his beard, every start to a laughter line, every beautiful bit of the crow’s feet around his eyes. Maybe it’s the alcohol or the popsicle juice in his bloodstream that’s suddenly making him feel romantic. Maybe it’s the way that fireworks look reflected in Steve’s eyes, a thousand times prettier than the placid canvas of the lake.

Steve stares back, and Bucky wonders if he’s thinking any of the same things. He closes his eyes and leans in for another kiss. This one is softer.

“Happy Birthday, Steve.”

**Author's Note:**

> Happy 102nd Birthday, Steven Grant Rogers!
> 
> Follow @howdoyousleep3 on tumblr for questions/thoughts/head canons about her amazing [Three-Day Weekend Daddy AU](https://howdoyousleep3.tumblr.com/post/616337676444008448/hello-and-happy-friday-as-we-enter-the-weekend)


End file.
